


Mornings Came With Nightmares

by polarising



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Gen, I don't know what to tag this as, vic thinks abt things while nate is sad and it's raining: the musical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polarising/pseuds/polarising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(And on daytime, my heart aches.)</p><p>Victoria never minds when Nathan visits her in the early hours of the morning, and this is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings Came With Nightmares

 

It's raining outside in Arcadia Bay at 3.37AM, and Victoria isn't quite sure why she's still awake. Taylor and Courtney went to bed long ago, and Zachary was no fun to text (or sext) after getting back together with Juliet. Maybe her subconscious is telling her that something will happen tonight. It shouldn't; tonight is no different to any other night, and there's no reason for her to worry about anything. The raindrops splatter across her window, echoing light taps through her room and streaking colourless lines down the glass. Lamps on the floor and desk give the room a dim, warm glow while she lies sideways on her sofa, leaning her elbow on the armrest while idly flicking through her newest magazine.

 

Her fuchsia plastic case rattles loudly against her coffee table, and she tiredly reaches across for it.

 

**Message to: Vic**

**Nathan: im coming o vr**

 

She pouts at the message and gathers her energy to sit up straight, leaving a tingle in her upper arm. Kicking her blanket from around her feet, she taps her nails against her phone rhythmically, planning out what to say.

 

**Message to: Nate**

**Victoria: K. Stay safe on those stairs**

 

She not-so-fondly recalls the time Nathan stumbled up to her room, drunk and drugged up, and he confessed to falling up the stairs to the girl's dorms three times before finally making it up. It might've been funnier had he not text her beforehand about "all the thoughts in his head" and "wanting to do even more illegal stuff", and so remembering it makes her wince. She doesn't think he'd show up in the same state again tonight. That time was just a particularly bad week for him, although she doesn't quite know why and doesn't remember him ever telling her.

 

Footsteps begin to sound from the corridor outside, a slow thud-thud-thud every second or so. She knows Nathan can get in, and so she doesn't stand to get the door when he knocks at it, instead quietly calling out "yeah" in response and bringing her knees closer to her chest to make room for him. The door is gently pushed open and then closed again, and she looks up from her phone when she is jolted upwards after a sudden weight sets down on the other end of the sofa. Her eyes meet plain grey sweatshirt and dark blue pyjama bottoms, and a screwed-up face that looks like it hasn't rested itself in a few days.

 

"You okay?" she says, watching him gather the blanket that had slid from the seat and pull it over his legs. He doesn't look directly at her but pulls a face at the blanket that's intended as a response. She takes it as a sign that he doesn't want to talk, and picks her magazine up from the coffee table to flick through.

 

After five minutes of silence aside from the pitter-patter of raindrops on glass, though, she finds herself watching Nathan. The way he clutches a portion of the blanket close to his chest, the way his eyelids flicker every few seconds from tiredness, the way his jaw clenches occasionally to bite back a yawn as the glow from his phone screen illuminates his face.

 

His eyes suddenly flick up to meet her gaze, and then back down again after dismissing her looks yet she continues to watch for a moment as he dully stares at his phone, unimpressed with whatever he happens to be looking at. She returns to her magazine, gradually losing interest in the stick-thin models and high-end fashion printed on the pages.

 

She never minds him coming over to hers. He doesn't require any special attention, nor does he make a mess or too much noise, and so he's fairly good company to keep. The only exceptions to this have been their private after-parties, where both of them are wasted and care less about what others in the dorms around them might think about them blaring music with an open door and laughing too loudly. The growing collection of noise complaint emails piling up in Victoria's "trash" folder is evidence enough of this, and they both laugh the newest one off the day after.

 

But there are some times when he comes around, like now, where he doesn't speak for most of the time that he stays, and instead curls up into himself as if he's shielding himself from those around him. Where his refusal to talk is an indication of something wrong, as he's normally loud and open, and where not seeing him in a typical sprawled-out seating position, legs splayed, is an oddity. He just sits calmly and flicks through his phone, or drinks from a can of whatever he feels like that day, or sometimes just does nothing and lets himself slowly drift off to sleep whilst still sitting upright. There's no problem with this - at least, Victoria doesn't particularly see a problem with him staying the night every so often, especially since he's holed up in his dark, unwelcoming room most of the time anyway - and she's mostly just glad that he likes her enough to want her company so often.

 

He shuffles, and involuntarily kicks the blanket and her foot along with it. She gently nudges him back as a playful response, but receives no reply or action. The raindrops continue to tap, unfortunately creating a perfect ambiance for sadness.

 

"Have you taken your meds?" she asks softly. He simply chews on his lip in response, so she repeats the question a little louder. To this, he shakes his head so gently that it's almost not noticeable. "That's probably the problem. Nate, why aren't you taking them?"

 

She's asked this question many times before, and knows that she'll probably receive the same answer again now, too, if any.

 

"Why should I? They don't do shit," he mumbles.

 

"They do, though, Nate. Seriously, you're so much better when you have them."

 

"Nope."

 

" _Yep_. You  _know_  I'm right. You just don't want to take them on principle."

 

And she's also had this debate many times before, which she always wins, because Nathan is considerably easier to twist around her little finger than anyone would expect. She hates admitting to herself that she does manipulate him - even if it is for the better - because it sounds so wrong when she knows presumably all of his conditions and sob stories, and it feels even worse knowing that  _she_ , his best friend, has to lie to him and even blackmail him in some cases in order to get him to take care of himself.

 

She remembers sipping on the silvery rim of a Diet Coke while watching Nathan flick through photos on his ridiculously expensive monochrome camera (she acknowledges that her own family has cash and dropped a lot of it to pay for her photography equipment, but seeing Nathan toss around a seven thousand-dollar camera that she wishes she owned makes her feel even a little jealous, and she could've sworn she's never even seen him take pictures on it). When she thinks about it, he was almost overly secretive about the pictures on that camera, despite his work being of above average standard. Maybe she'll have to ditch class and take a trip to his room to snoop around his equipment soon, but for now she entertains the thought that he lied  _back_  to her when she told him that him taking his meds made him ten times better, and he told her that he knew and that he'd set reminders on his phone to take them. In fact, he most likely also lied when he said there was nothing unusual on his camera. She knows him too well to think he'd actually hide his photos from her.

 

Neither of them learn from the other. They both know full well what the consequences of lying are by now, but it's a natural instinct for both of them to lie in order to hide what they really think, or how they really feel.

 

So Victoria keeps this on her mind as she nudges him again, seeing a small sparkle in the crease of his eye, and then she does so for a third time after seeing a tear drip from the end of his nose to the blanket.

 

"Nathan?" she whispers. "You need a hug?"

 

His nod is so small, so shaky that it takes Victoria a moment to catch it. But she does, and she outstretches her arms in a welcoming manner. The lock sound rings quietly from his phone as he sets it onto the coffee table and shuffles himself down the sofa and into her embrace. Now Victoria remembers the first time they hugged, when everyone still thought that they were dating. The awkward first embrace when her photography class paper got a B and he tried to comfort her. Although he's terrible at consoling people - a guy who thinks everything can be solved by getting high is not exactly the kind of person you want giving you life advice - she was and still  _is_  grateful that he at least tried.

 

If she's honest to herself, she's thankful that they didn't ever try to date - she prefers their sibling-like friendship and closeness over a meaningless hookup. She misses this when he's not around; just being able to sit together and hold each other without there being any romantic attachment is nice. Her arms get tighter around his middle, and he responds by shuffling even closer to her. She knows that, while he's too concerned about being tough to admit it, he very much appreciates it too.

 

"Stop crying. Stop it. Don't cry," she says.

 

"Is that an order?"

 

"Oh, please, you hate all the fluffy 'it's going to be okay' crap. You told me just to always say it as it is."

 

"Yeah, but loosen up on the drill sergeant talk."

 

"Take it or leave it, Prescott."

 

"I'll take it," he says, sniffing and bringing a sleeve-covered palm up to his eyes to dry them. Victoria idly runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more and combing out the remains of his hair gel. "Vic, I swear to shit, if you ruin my hair and then send me back to my room, I will strangle you with my b-bare hands. Nobody should have to see how long my hair is."

 

"Your flowing chestnut locks are  _gorgeous_ , rich boy."

 

"Fuck off."

 

She laughs and hopes for the sake of his happiness that it doesn't sound forced or fake in any way. "Ha. No, but really, leave it down more often. It's so-" she runs her hands through it again, and musses the hair gel up so that its scruffiness reminds her of that time they went down to the beach and the wind ruined his hairstyle "-fluffy."

 

"No way. Sometimes you're so goddamn wrong that it's painful for me to even think about agreeing with you. Just shut it, Vic, so I can nap without you bitching about everything behind me."

 

So she does. She adjusts her sitting position to make it comfier for the both of them, and Nathan pushes himself upwards to rest his head on her shoulder as he curls his legs up onto the sofa.

 

Splashes of water start to land on the windowsill through her slightly open window, but she can't and doesn't want to move to close it. The rain gets heavier, and a flash sparks up her room, closely followed by a clap of thunder. The skies are a dark grey, and cloudless in some spots but concealed in others. She can't see outside anyway, but her room has gradually turned darker while tending to Nathan.

 

"...If it's like this tomorrow I'm not even leaving my room," she says bitterly, listening to the angry rumbles of thunder.

 

"Mmm. Okay."

 

"I'm not having my new cashmere sweater get wrecked by shitty rain."

 

"Mmm."

 

"And I brought my camera back here from class to sort out my project photos. I'm so _not_ taking that outside and have the lens get waterlogged or whatever. I can't belie-"

 

Nathan cuts her off with a quiet yet irritated growl. "I _get_ it. _I hear you_. Tell me this tomorrow."

 

She ruffles his hair again, and he makes another irritated groan, to which she laughs.

 

It starts to hail, and her lamp flickers with her eyelids. Power cuts aren't uncommon, especially with the amount of electricity each student uses, but she'll tend to that tomorrow. Rain in Arcadia Bay has never sounded more soothing.

**Author's Note:**

> an apology for not being able to update 20 questions sooner
> 
> also the title and first line of summary are from a song called "kids aren't safe in the metro" by satellite stories if anyone wanted to know they're a great band js
> 
> tumblr: polarising.tumblr.com


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